From One End to Another
by Tari Seregon
Summary: At the end of Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, we saw the end of a wonderful character Cedric Diggory. That was the end of his life. This is the beginning of his death. From Cedric's point of view, rated just in case. I don't quite know where it's go


**Author's Note:** Welcome to my newest fanfic! As the description read, it's probably going to be fairly short - about Cedric and what happens to him after he dies. This is chapter one, concerning his death and the moments directly after. I'm wicked depressed writing this but whatever, it needs to be written. Enjoy!

**Disclaimer:** What? Oh, fine . . . the characters, setting, etc. belong to Ms. Rowling, everything else is mine.

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_**Chapter One**__**  
The End**_

**Most stories start at the beginning.** Well, this one starts at the end.

I felt nothing. It was a quick and easy death. I simply fell to the ground. The only part that hurt, really, was the flash of green light. Had I not been dying, I might have been completely blinded, but I think God must have spared my eyesight so I could watch people in my death.

It was so terrible, lying on the ground, watching Harry's end play out. I could see everything from where I was – the sniggering looks on the Death Eaters' faces, the malice in the Dark Lord's eyes, the bravery in Harry's heart. And I wished I could tell him when the pain was coming, but my mouth wouldn't even open when I asked it to. And then I realized. That was because I was dead.

Finally, I had my chance to speak. When the Dark Lord's and Harry's wands connected, part of me – I'm not quite sure what part it was, but a part – came out from his wand. I had so much to say! I wanted to tell him that my death wasn't his fault. I wanted to tell him that he was always a good friend to me, no matter what our competition was. It was kind of stupid, but I wanted to tell him that he really deserved to win that Quidditch match the year before.

But when I finally got there, despite my hope that I had as long as I wanted, I only had a few seconds. Looking at him, I read a mix of emotions. He was scared, that was for sure. But that fear was hidden behind a wall of determination. He was amazed to see me – or at least, the smokey outline of me – standing before him. He was confused and relieved and a million other things. I was surprised he hadn't exploded yet.

I looked into the faces of Bertha Jorkins, an old muggle man, and whom I can only assume were Harry's parents. The look in his eyes changed when they spoke to him.

"When the connection is broken, we will linger for only moments . . . but we will give you time . . ." whispered Mrs. Potter

Only moments? I wanted to stay!

"You must get to the Portkey," she continued, "it will return you to Hogwarts . . . do you understand, Harry?"

I heard him whisper in response, "Yes."

Now was my moment to speak. I didn't have that much time.

"Harry, take my body back, will you?" I asked. "Take my body back to my parents."

"I will," Harry said.

Of all the things to say, I asked him to take my body back. At the moment, it seemed kind of stupid, but in reflection, I realized I'd much rather my parents had my body than Harry had the knowledge that he deserved to win last year's Quidditch match. I hoped I was a decent enough person that Harry could know I had no intention of stealing that victory from him. And I knew that Harry was a decent enough person to not care, even if I had intended to do such a thing.

When the connection broke, I flew towards the Dark Lord with all the other people he'd recently killed. And then I disappeared into a puff of smoke, making sure to cloud his vision so Harry could get away safely. And then I flew back to my body, just in time to feel Harry's hand close around my wrist. I didn't feel the jolt behind my navel, the way I usually did. I wondered why I felt certain things, but not others. Hopefully, that would all be answered when I got wherever I was going.

We finally landed back at Hogwarts. It didn't hurt. In fact, I felt nothing at all. Harry was still holding on to me, on top of me, crying quietly. Dumbledore came running over when he saw Harry wasn't jumping up in Triumph. I don't remember what they were saying, but Harry wouldn't let go of me. I heard my Dad screaming.

"_Let me through! Let me through!"_

Standing over me.

"_That's my son!" _

If I were alive and if moisture really could come from my eyes, that was the one time I wouldn't have been able to maintain my control.

Harry was wrenched off of me, still sobbing, his breath heavy. I watched him walk away, Mad-Eye Moody keeping him on his feet. Somehow I had the feeling that what would happen to him wouldn't be good. I had never trusted Mad-Eye. I wanted to scream to someone that nobody was watching Harry, but my voice wasn't working. I kept forgetting I was dead.

People mourned me for hours. I saw Harry's friends Ron and Hermione up in the stands. Hermione at first looked disgusted, realizing the horror of what had happened. Then she, too, joined the others in shedding her tears. She leaned over and buried her face in Ron's shirt. Ron consoled her to the best of his ability, all the time watching me and my parents on the ground of the stadium.

Despite all the sadness surrounding me (or what was left of me), I couldn't help but realize how death brought us together in the most beautiful ways.

Searching the stands, I saw more of my friends. The guys weren't crying. They're not exactly ones to cry. But I could see it in their faces, they were going to miss me. Not that all I wanted was for everyone to miss me. I didn't want everyone to be sad. I wanted them to be happy, remember things for the way they were, not the way they are. But at the same time, I kind of wanted to be mourned.

I wasn't doing too terribly until I came upon Cho. Her hand was over her mouth and tears were leaking from her eyes. What little make-up she wore was running down her cheeks. She knew I didn't like it when she wore make-up, I thought she was beautiful without it. She had consented to wearing less of it, but she still wore some. Now, I wanted so badly to wipe it away, to jump and say, "I'm just kidding! Happy April Fool's Day, a few months late!" I tried, I really did, but my legs didn't move.

No matter how much you wish, once you're dead, you're dead, and you'll stay dead for the rest of eternity. And when you're alive, an eternity with the one you love is never enough.


End file.
